


a city of fools

by thescrewtapedemos



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, GTA Universe, M/M, Multi, very very VERY loosely based on the heists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1842349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a system, the six of them.</p><p>Gavin doesn’t talk to Geoff – not anymore, not really, nothing but drunk 2 A.M. phone calls – but then he doesn’t really talk to any of them anymore. Michael takes care of Ray and has the most reliable contact with Ryan and it keeps the two of them from tearing each other apart. They talk to Jack and everything Jack knows Geoff will know eventually. No one asks where Ryan is or what he’s doing but he always shows up when they need him to even if his eyes haven’t really stopped looking like ice for years.</p><p>They have a system. None of them ever claimed it worked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a city of fools

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song therapy by all time low  
> alternatively titled: the monster fucking fic that ate 44 hours of my life

There are coyotes howling outside his hotel window.

“Geoff.”

Gavin’s voice is slurring and drunk, crackling and far away through the shitty phone speaker. There’s too much static for him to be in the ‘States, Geoff thinks. It doesn't do enough to hide the desperate hitch in Gavin’s breathing, the broken little noises that barely make it through the static.

“Kid,” he says, and Gavin moans through his speaker. Geoff feels like he just got punched in the dick. He’s intimately familiar with the feeling, sudden and sick and painful. “ _Kid,_ you gotta stop doing this to me.”

“Fuck, _Geoff,_ ” Gavin moans and Geoff hears a rustle that could be static and could be Gavin arching his back against the sheets the way he does when he’s really, honestly desperate for it. Geoff digs the fingernails of his free hand into his palm and tries agonizingly not to think about it.

“Gavin.” Geoff says and it comes out cracking and an octave higher than he wants it to.

He knows the exact moment Gavin comes because Gavin goes quiet for once in his goddamn life, the only sound he makes a choking gasp for air and the sharp rustle of sheets. Geoff digs his fingernails in deeper, viciously, and tries not to think about how the air where Gavin is probably smells like sex and come. He tries not to imagine Gavin’s sweat-slick skin under his hands.

There are several moments of silence that isn’t really silence, is more the sounds of coyotes howling and muffled breathing.

“I'm sorry.” Gavin bites out and Geoff thinks no, _this_ is like being punched because now he really does feel sick and hurt and blindsided.

“Kid-,” he begins desperately, voice still cracking, but Gavin’s hanging up and he’s got a phone to his ear with no one on the other end of the line, nothing but dead air and his own wounded breathing. His palm has a little blood smeared on it when he slowly, painfully uncurls his fingers.

His phone doesn’t shatter when he throws it at the wall but it’s a near thing and Geoff can’t really afford to be this stupid but Gavin _makes_ him this way.

The coyotes are still howling outside his window.

+++

Jack and Geoff are in Kansas for the moment, in a shitty old motel on the edge of Wichita and a sea of wheat fields, because they've been kicked out of every bar in every major city on the East Coast and the car ran out of gas before they reached Los Angeles. Geoff doesn’t really care, thinks he’s going to drink himself to death the same in a Kansas bar as a California one. Jack cares, drags Geoff home in the morning and keeps him from drowning in his own vomit. Geoff thinks it’s sweet in a fucked up way.

He laughs and takes a shot because there’s nothing about any of them that isn’t fucked up anymore.

He misses Michael and Ray constantly with a saccharine, stinging burn. They call sometimes. It’s not that hard. He misses Ryan differently, misses him in fits and starts the way he misses tattoo needles. Ryan doesn’t call but Geoff knows that if he stays in one place long enough Ryan will show up there too with a smile just this side of psychopathy and eyes like diamonds. It’s easy in a different way.

He doesn’t think about Gavin, _refuses_ to think about Gavin.

+++

Michael doesn’t know the whole story.

Michael doesn’t know anything about it with certainty. He knows it had something to do with the heist, the bank in New Orleans. He knows it’s probably something to do with Geoff’s hand on Gavin’s in the dark of the apartment the night before, and something that had happened while he and Ray and Ryan had been down in the sewer tunnels. Something worse than what had happened in the tunnels because Ray has started talking to Ryan again through him – has almost forgiven Ryan – and Gavin is still hiding a literal world away from Geoff.

Michael guesses he does know one thing with bedrock certainty. He knows that Gavin left them all when he left Geoff.

That’s all Michael knows and then Gavin turns up on his doorstep with a single duffle bag and a look in his eyes like his world is ending.

+++

“You can’t tell Geoff I’m here.” Gavin tells him. He’s clutching his lumpy duffle bag to his chest like it’s his child. Michael tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, staring steadily at him. He wonders how Gavin had found him. Michael has moved since Gavin had left, has moved to a whole new Borough. He wonders if Gavin kept tabs.

“You left.” He says after a deliberate minute because it was _true_. Gavin left Geoff worst but he left them all when he ran off across the fucking world like a fucking coward and none of them were exactly fucking stable to begin with. He had wrecked them like the Titanic and never once looked back.

“You _can’t_.” Gavin says, his face crumpling and his tone so disgustingly familiar. Michael wants to vomit.

“Fuck you, Gavin.” Michael says and steps aside to let Gavin in. He slams the door behind them viciously and notes with vindictive pleasure the way Gavin jumps.

Gavin moves into the living room and drops his duffle on the couch and Michael kinda wants to punch him in the face for how easily he assumes he’s allowed into Michael’s space. There’s too much between them now, too much between all of them for anything to be easy again.

Maybe once upon a time Michael would have done more than walk out of the room without a word and lock his bedroom door behind him but he thought he had cut his losses only for his burned bridges to wash up on his goddamn shores. He’s going to tell Jack at least and Gavin can go fuck himself. Michael doesn’t owe him shit.

He had never even _apologized_.

+++

“Geoff.”

Jack lays a gentle hand on the barrel of Geoff’s shotgun and pushes it down, pushes the sights from centered out the window to pointing harmlessly at the floor. Geoff blinks up at him, feels exhaustion and withdrawal in his shaky fingers and skittering, empty thoughts.

“Pattillo.” He mimics, a second too late. Jack quirks a smile anyway and Geoff looks back down at the shotgun in his hands. He had been cleaning it, gun oil and grime on the ragged motel sheets. He had put it back together and checked down the sights and then…

Lost time. It happens a lot, lately. 

“When did you sleep last?” Jack asks gently. Geoff glances at the clock.

“What day is it?” he asks and they both pretend he’s joking.

Jack settles onto the bed across from him, pushing aside the sheet with the patches of gun oil on it, and takes the shotgun from Geoff's hands to lay carefully on the table. He watches Geoff watch his trembling fingers for long enough for the people in the room next door to wake up, to start talking in an indecipherable rumble of voices. It’s dusty in the room and Geoff loses time watching the flashing particles.

“He’s at Michael’s right now.” Jack says and Geoff can’t stop the sound tearing its way out of his mouth, a growl like a trapped animal and also a sob. His hands twist themselves into fists and he can feel his scabs reopening, the smell of blood filtering into the air like pennies and vinegar. He notes distantly that he’s hyperventilating.

“Geoff.” Jack grabs his hands and starts prying them open. “Geoff! Come on, fucking, stop doing this to yourself!”

It takes ten, maybe twenty minutes for Jack to calm him down but in the end Geoff falls asleep shaking silent, dry sobs into Jack’s shoulder. Jack pretends not to notice.

+++

Ryan gets the call mid-job, blood on his arms from wrist to elbow and the screaming mostly done now. He lets the call ring through to voicemail and finishes up mechanically, as always. Contrary to the jokes they used to make when things were better he isn’t a psychopath. The violence may come easy but it doesn’t come clean and he never feels human after.

It hadn’t been as bad, before, but he had fucked up and Gavin had left and apparently between them they had toppled the six like a house of cards. Ryan had stayed. Gavin had run away. Ryan isn’t sure, still, which of them had the right idea.

He calls Michael back when the job is done and his hands are clean.

“Ryan.” Michael sounds happy when he answers and Ryan breathes easier. It’s hard for him sometimes to remember that he hadn’t fucked up this at least.

“Michael.” He breathes and it comes out more honest than he means, too intimate. Michael’s breath hitches in surprise on the other end and then he’s sighing sadly.

“Finished a job?” he asks and Ryan laughs. It’s pitched wrong to be happy. Michael knows the difference and Ryan knows he knows. He sighs again in a gust of static.

“I have to.” Ryan says softly. He’s got this part down, an entire world of argument in a few worn words.

“No, you don’t.” Michael’s tone is final. They’ve fought their way to a standstill on this before, battled to a stop in this war of attrition. It’s a Mexican standoff between them, Michael and Ryan and Ryan’s past, except all the guns are pointed at Ryan. For a moment Ryan feels blood in slick trickles on his arms and he can’t help the shudder.

“You didn’t call to fight about this.” Ryan evades, glad Michael can’t see the way he can’t stop rubbing his palms on his jeans. It’s true, anyway, they never fight anywhere but in person. Neither of them are built to handle distance or rationality.

He knows he’s right when Michael grunts bitterly.

“Gavin showed up here.” He says after a beat of dead air. Ryan feels his sharp inhalation like someone punched him in the sternum. It’s painful.

“Does Geoff know?” he demands. That’s the important thing, really. All of them can handle this but Geoff.

“I told Jack.”

“So he does.”

Michael’s growl is a rush of static and carries a world of aching weariness in it. Ryan feels his bones throb in sympathy. They’re all tired, tired of carrying the weight of Gavin’s absence, tired of circling the black hole he left behind.

“He doesn’t fucking get to do this to us again.” He snarls and Ryan hears years of anger in his voice, resentment and grief and longing all mixed up and toxic.

“You’re right.” He says instead of what he really wants to say which is _you shouldn’t have let him back in_. It’s not that Ryan doesn’t miss Gavin, it’s not that he isn’t angry, but Ryan fucked up too and he doesn’t think he has the right to say anything. His only saving grace is that he didn’t run away. “I’m in Berlin right now but I’m heading to you. Be there in a few hours, half a day at most.”

Michael exhales explosively and shrugs in a rustle of fabric through the speakers. Ryan thinks longingly of wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the crook of Michael’s neck. Things seem simpler when he’s with Michael. Ryan likes things simple. Things are rarely simple anymore.

+++

“Where is he?” Ray demands when Michael opens the door. Michael grins in response, all aggressive teeth and no mirth.

“Shit, Narvaez. You never call, you never write. What’s a boy to do?” He’s using the voice he uses whenever he thinks Ray needs to be handled with care, a delicate sing-song balance of sarcasm and veiled caring. Ray hates it, hates that he needs it right now and hates that Michael can tell.

“Fuck you, Jones.” He says, cracking a painful grin, and then Michael wraps his arms around him, drags him inside and into a hug that suddenly feels like the only thing holding him up. He’d come all the way from Brooklyn when Michael had texted, driven an hour in 4 A.M. traffic with something he doesn’t bother to examine shaking under his skin.

“Ryan’s coming here too.” Michael mutters into Ray’s hair. Ray considers that and laughs emptily.

“Had to see him someday,” he decides. Michael shrugs, nods, and points into the living room. There’s the muffled sounds of someone playing Halo with the volume down.

“He’s in there. Don’t kill him. I mean it.”

+++

Ray opens the door when Ryan knocks. Michael’s standing behind him, watching impassively.

Ryan’s sleep-drunk and jetlagged and probably hallucinating a little bit but even then he doesn’t miss the way the skin around Ray’s mouth goes white, the sudden tension in the way he holds himself. He smiles but it looks a little a sick. Ryan wonders if Ray will ever see him without also seeing the barrel of a gun. He’s got no right to ask for it but he can’t help hoping.

“Ryan.” Ray offers his hand. It’s steady. Not shaking at all.

“Ray.” He acknowledges. He makes sure not to make any sudden moves when he reaches out and takes Ray’s proffered hand.

Ray drags him into a sideways, awkward hug and Ryan jolts so hard in surprise it startles a laugh out of him. When Ray pulls back he’s smiling a small, unhappy smile but his eyes are mostly clear and he examines the naked wonder on Ryan’s face with something almost like gladness.

“I missed you.” Ray says, smile twisting. Ryan hears the unspoken _I wish I didn’t_ but it’s progress. It’s something. He can work with this.

“Missed you too.” He says belatedly. Michael laughs at him with honest meanness and Ryan has to laugh too, relief blooming in his chest. Ray’s smile turns a little more genuine.

“Rye?”

Ryan looks past Ray and Michael’s suddenly stony faces and sees Gavin for probably the first time in two years.

He looks worn, dark bags under his eyes and cheekbones too present in his gaunt face. His hair is shaggy. His clothes are nice. Ryan doesn’t know how to parse what he’s feeling, what’s making his breathing catch and what’s burning in the backs of his eyes. Ryan catches himself reaching out, hardens his face and steps inside, closing the door deliberately behind him.

Gavin flinches. Ray doesn’t. Progress.

“Gavin.” Ryan says.

+++

Geoff is out, maybe laying low and probably drinking. Jack can’t deal with it right now, he’s only got so much in him and he loves Geoff too much to watch him destroy himself every day. He stays in instead of chasing Geoff through every bar in the city, flips through shitty motel channels on their tiny television and thinks about nothing in particular.

When Geoff’s phone rings from the bedside table of their shitty little motel room Jack isn’t sure why he answers. No one good calls Geoff, they call Jack instead and know he’ll tell Geoff. The number isn’t saved to the contacts. Jack’s pretty sure Geoff has it memorized anyway.

“Geoff?”

Gavin’s voice is high-pitched and breathy and so instantaneously familiar.

Jack wishes, for one sharp moment, that he had never met Gavin. That Geoff had never met Gavin. That the skinny British prick had never walked into their life, that they were still the shifty pair jacking cars in Austin and fucking only when they were drunk enough to pretend not to remember in the morning.

“…Geoff?” Gavin’s voice is soft and uncertain and Jack hates himself for the thought. There was no one of the six that hadn’t had a hand in destroying their something beautiful. None of them were blameless.

“It’s Jack.” He says. Gavin huffs out a surprised noise and it’s so achingly familiar Jack has to sit down. Dust billows around him and hangs in the air.

“I thought… this is Geoff’s number.” Gavin says uncertainly. Jack lets out a laugh that’s anything but amused. The bitterness is thick and nauseating on his tongue.

“He left his phone. Sorry. You’re stuck with me.”

“No, Jack, not like _that_.” Gavin says quickly. He sounds genuinely dismayed. It’s almost gratifying.

“Gavin, no offense, but you’re fucking Geoff up real bad.” Jack says and the words burn a little coming out. He and Gavin had always been a little bit unfortunate, the wrong words and the wrong times and everything wrong except that they hadn’t given up on each other.

Until Gavin gave up, Jack guesses. Gave up on all of them.

“I-,” Gavin says, and he sounds taken aback and young like he hadn’t since the very beginning. “Jack, I just missed him, I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, Gav.” Jack says quietly. He does know, is the thing. Gavin Free is a lot of things – a coward and a lazy asshole for a start – but he isn’t malicious. He never _meant_ to hurt them.

Gavin’s pained breathing fills the silence for a moment or two.

“I’m in Queens. At Michaels.” He says and he sounds desperate for something. Reassurance probably.

“I know, Gav.” He repeats, still gentle. “Michael told me.”

“Ryan’s here. Ray too.” Gavin continues like he hadn’t heard. “They’re talking. I didn’t know they were talking again. I guess I missed a lot.”

“Are they?” Jack asked, suddenly sidetracked. He hadn’t known that either. But then he hadn’t seen Ryan in so long. He’d been caught up in keeping Geoff afloat, in keeping him moving and stable even if sometimes he had to settle for just _alive_.

“Yeah.” Gavin breathed. “Ray won’t talk to me but he even hugged Ryan. I saw.”

“That’s.” Jack has to stop to breathe for a moment because maybe. Maybe that part at least could turn out okay. “That’s good. Really good.”

“Ryan won’t really talk to me either.” Gavin confesses in the casual way he always does when he spills something only other people consider important. Gavin David Free just doesn’t have the same priorities that other people do. Jack remembers that intimately.

“That’s his choice to make.” Jack leans his head back against the headboard and stares blankly at the television. The channel Jack had been on when he picked up the phone is some old Spanish telenovela, overacting and dramatic motions writ large even with the volume too low for him to hear.

“I didn’t think I was going to ruin so much. It was hard to come back.” Gavin sounds wondering and sad and Jack is glad Geoff isn’t there to hear that.

“You did a lot of damage, Gav.” Jack tells him. “It’s hard to forgive that.”

+++

Geoff knows that he’s falling to pieces.

He’s not unaware that Jack is following him across the country mostly to keep him from disappearing forever in some roadway ditch. He knows Michael checks in with Jack to keep tabs on him, knows Ray hears from Michael. Ryan is probably keeping tabs somehow, through Michael or Jack or some other, less legal way. He tries to ignore Gavin. It doesn’t work but he tries. They’re all so scared he’s going to hurt himself.

He’s pretty sure they’re worried about the wrong thing. He thinks they’ve forgotten that before he was their Geoff Ramsey he had been someone else, someone not very nice and not very kind. He knows Jack knows even if he tries not to remember it. He’s pretty sure Ryan knows in some tacit way, violence speaking to violence.

He’s wanted in Georgia for killing a man. It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t the last time. It was just – a time.

Sometimes he misses that, misses when he had felt empty and ugly and awful and hadn’t cared about anyone except maybe Jack. It’s mostly the nights when Jack is breathing next to him and he can’t stop staring down the dark, when there’s nothing to think about but how fucked up everything had gotten, how in the end he had started it but Gavin had been the one that did the breaking.

He staggers out of the bar, heads back to the motel by the darkest alleyways. Someone tries to stop him, reaches for his wallet, and Geoff beats them until they stop moving and staggers on.

He feels a little better. _He_ can break things too.

+++

Three days. Three days of Michael and Ray in Michael’s room, Ryan in the spare and Gavin on the couch watching them with naked longing in his eyes. It’s getting to Ryan a little bit, all the tension. He’s a little twitchy, a little jumpy, the guilty cigarettes he smokes out the bathroom window not helping as much as they used to.

He’s caught between the old, polluted strain of Ray’s fear and the new tightness in his chest that’s all Gavin. Ray feels it too, exchanges guarded looks with Ryan whenever Gavin forgets himself and reaches out for them only to jerk away when he realizes that’s what he’s doing. It’s a little like the old them, the fabled R ‘n R Connection shit, but Ryan tries not to think about it and Ray doesn’t bring it up.

Michael’s the only one that doesn’t seem to care, bulls through the awkwardness with careless ruffles of Ray’s hair, pressing his face into Ryan’s chest without comment, wrathful screaming at Gavin that somehow calms the asshole down when he gets too anxious and loud.

Ryan isn’t sure what they’re all waiting for. Geoff probably. It’s not a terrible holding pattern as far as the Gavin situation is concerned but Ray won’t stop watching him and he thinks something there is going to give soon.

He hopes he can fix this. He hopes he didn’t try so hard for nothing.

+++

“Don’t you fucking do it, Ryan.”

Ray’s voice is steadier than he feels by miles, by oceans. There’s fear in him like he’s never felt before, fear he hadn’t felt even with the literal entirety of the New Orleans police department gunning for him, fear like nothing he had felt until now.

Jack and Geoff and Gavin are screaming at each other over their radios, something about Gavin and bullet wounds and finding cover and _fuck, fuck, how the fuck did the cops find us? we gotta get a car_. Ray isn’t really listening, doesn’t think Michael and Ryan are either. He thinks they can be forgiven for that.

Ryan smiles at him emptily over his gun. It’s not even one of his personal weapons, Ray thinks dizzily in the tiny part of him that isn’t distilled down to the gun and Ryan’s smile and Michael, hovering on the peripheral with nothing he can do. It’s some trash Uzi variant they had picked up on the cheap and in some ridiculous way Ray’s a little offended. He deserves better than this if he’s going to die by Ryan’s hand.

“Someone ratted, Ray.” Ryan says, tone reasonable and friendly. His eyes are like ice, are like blue marbles. Ray think he must be seeing for the first time the Ryan that went out on his solo jobs. “Can’t be Geoff or Jack or Gavin. Isn’t me. It’s you or Michael and no offense, Michael, but you couldn’t hide that from me.”

“Ryan.” Michael says and his tone is straining for rational, hitting desperate instead. “No one ratted, Ryan, _shit_ , especially not Ray.”

“I didn’t rat.” Ray says, still steady. “I swear, Ryan.”

Ryan sizes him up for a moment and Ray almost thinks he can see something moving behind the ice in his gaze, something like hurt or betrayal. It freezes over before he can be sure.

“I don’t believe you.”

Ryan’s backing him into the wall slowly, step by step splashing through the raw sewage. Michael’s keeping pace to the side. No one says a word until Ray’s back hits the wall. 

“Don’t do this, Rye.” He whispers.

Ryan breaks, wavers, betrayal and anguish and pain spilling across his face. He presses in even closer, the barrel pressing against his Adam’s apple for a moment and then sliding up under his jaw. It’s an inadvisable position for Ryan but Ray thinks if he fought Ryan would still win.

Ray doesn’t want to kill Ryan, wants to vomit at the thought, but there’s a gun barrel under his chin that says that maybe Ryan doesn’t feel the same. It’s simple mathematics to anyone who knows how to fight, that the one willing to do the most damage would win.

“Why did it have to be you?” Ryan asks and his voice is breaking too.

The gun barrel doesn’t waver when Ryan pulls the trigger and Michael’s screaming in his ear and Ray’s screaming and Geoff and Gavin and Jack are all screaming- 

Ray jolts awake and claws the blankets away from his face, thrashes away from Michael until he spills onto the floor.

“Ray?” Michael’s awake in a moment but he’s used to Ray’s nightmares, used to Ray bolting awake at night.

“I’m fine.” Ray snaps, balling his hands into fists on his thighs. He waits until Michael rolls back over and his breathing evens out, pacing his own breathing to Michael’s. He doesn’t enjoy hyperventilation, doesn’t really want to pass out.

It hasn’t been that bad in a while.

Ray figures it was probably Ryan, seeing him again, _touching_ him for the first time in years. Bound to kick up some psychological bullshit, he reasons with his shaking hands. Nothing to be ashamed of. Post-traumatic stress or some shit. He’s fine.

He pads out of the room with his gun in one hand. He’s going to check on Ryan. He’s just going to check.

Gavin is asleep on the couch and Ray pauses for a moment, watching him. He snuffles and Ray remembers it from before. Everything might have changed but Gavin hasn’t, is still loud and vividly present.

He moves on with ghosting feet, his socks barely scuffing the wood floors. Ryan’s room is at the other end of Michael’s apartment and the door is ajar, light on. Ryan’s insomnia, Ray remembers. He stands outside the light for several long moments, tracing his gun’s trigger-guard with a light fingertip. Not good gun safety, he knows, but gun safety could suck his dick.

“You can come in.” Ryan voice is pitched soft but Ray hears him too clearly to pretend he didn’t.

Ryan looks at him with no surprise when he pushes the door further open and steps inside. His gaze drops to the gun in Ray’s hands and for a moment Ray gets a flash of his eyes like ice, the smell of gunmetal and pressure hard and cold against his jaw. It’s gone in the next instant, Ryan’s gaze flicking back to meet his. He looks sad, and resigned, and his eyes are really just eyes.

He sets the book in his lap to the side and spreads his empty hands in easy line of sight.

They wait for a breath, two, Ray’s gun at his side and Ryan’s hands in his lap.

“Ray-,” Ryan begins eventually. Ray’s arm jerks up, almost without a thought, the sights centering automatically on his chest.

“I could kill you right now.” He says. The words are involuntary, spilling past his numb lips before he can think about what he’s saying. The gun is steady and unwavering in his hands and that fact is almost surprising to him.

“Yes.” Ryan agrees, the word really only a breath. His expression is sad and old and Ray doesn’t know what he thought would happen but it wasn’t this.

There’s another long moment of silence.

“You expected this.”

“Well.” Ryan quirks a mirthless half-grin. “Maybe not this exactly.”

Ray jerks the gun a little, impatient. He had forgotten the way Ryan was almost incapable of giving a straight answer. He doesn’t want to remember. Too much fondness in the memories.

“But you don’t seem surprised.”

Ryan shrugs, careful to keep his movements slow and deliberate. He had done that the whole time Ray had been there, kept himself out of the way. Ray doesn’t understand it, can’t bring himself to understand it. He doesn’t want to forgive.

“I thought you’d want to talk eventually. I didn’t factor in getting killed, I’ll be honest.”

Ray snorts, almost amused, mostly bitter.

“You would deserve it, if I killed you right here and now.”

Ryan nods. He doesn’t even have the fucking decency to look scared.

Ray sighs and drops the gun back to his side. He keeps his finger on the trigger, a fact Ryan acknowledges with the way he keeps his hands in his lap and his gaze steady on Ray’s.

“Why didn’t you shoot me, in the tunnels? Why didn’t you pull the trigger?”

The question tears its way out of his chest and cracks the still, quiet air. For the first time Ryan flinches, a flicker of grief on his face. It’s gratifying, if Ray is honest with himself.

“I…” Ryan begins, and then drops his face into his hands, scrubbing hard. He drops his hands back into his lap but doesn’t look up, stares at the blankets twisted around his legs. “I thought I told you. After… After we got out of the tunnels.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Tell me again.”

Ryan barks a laugh, a sharp convulsion of his shoulders that makes Ray twitch. He looks up and past Ray, to the far wall of the room and somehow beyond that. His face is twisted into a joyless grin.

“I couldn’t,” he whispers. Ray has to step closer to hear him. “I couldn’t make myself. I should have-,” he cuts his gaze up suddenly to meet Ray’s, glittering with anger and sadness and other things Ray can’t parse before he looks away again. “I was so sure you were the rat, and I should have done it. But I couldn’t make myself kill you.”

The barrel of Ray’s gun nudges against Ryan’s chest but it’s all wrong, his finger is outside the trigger-guard and somehow he feels like he’s still dreaming. He doesn’t know when he crossed the room to get close enough to do that. He doesn’t remember deciding to raise the gun.

Ryan meets his eyes with quiet surprise.

“Why.” Ray demands. It’s the only question, in the end.

The bark of laughter this time is despairing.

“Really? You have to know by now.” Ryan pauses and searches Ray’s stony expression. His tone is wondering when he continues. “But apparently you don’t. Fuck.”

“Just fucking _tell_ me, Haywood.” He snarls.

“It’s so goddamn obvious though.” Ryan shakes his head and quirks a strange, bitter smile. “I’m in love with you, you idiot."

There’s a beat of silence before Ray’s gun hand drops back to his side. He takes another beat to absorb, eyes on a spot somewhere above Ryan’s head. Ryan watches him with something like fear.

Ray sets the gun on the table deliberately, makes sure the safety is on. Ryan watches him do it in confusion, stares at him blankly when he climbs onto the bed and straddles him deliberately. His hands settling on Ray’s hips are more of a surprise to him than they are to Ray.

Ray presses his mouth to Ryan’s forehead for a long moment, pulls back to meet Ryan’s blank, uncomprehending eyes.

“I forgive you.” He says clearly. He leans in again and this time captures Ryan’s lips with his own.

+++

“We’re going back.” Geoff tells Jack when he slams the door open.

Jack can smell the whiskey and blood on Geoff from across the room. The blood isn’t Geoff’s, Jack figures out after a frantic once-over, and Geoff seems more or less rational. Jack thanks God for small favors.

“To Queens?” He questions. Geoff bares his teeth in a parody of a smile and jerks his head.

“Yes! To _Gavin_. I have…” he trails off and sags against the wall. Jack gets up and helps him to the bed. Geoff picks the trail of his sentence again as Jack tugs off his boots. “I have some _shit to say_ to that kid.”

“I’ll start packing for tomorrow then.” Jack says placating. Geoff stares at him suspiciously for a moment before rolling over. He’s snoring in moments, wet and disgusting. Jack sighs and closes the door Geoff had left hanging open.

He snags Geoff’s phone out of his pocket and checks the recent calls. There aren’t any, not since Gavin had called and Jack had answered. Jack wonders what had set Geoff off but settles for dialing Michael instead.

“Geoff decided to come back.” He says when Michael picks up.

“Shit. Should I tell Gavin?” Michael sighs. Jack hears skin rasp on skin and assumes Michael is rubbing his face tiredly the way Jack wants to.

“I don’t have a single fucking clue anymore.” Jack confesses. “It’s gonna take us two or three days to get there so you have time to figure it out.”

“You’re not flying?” Michael sounds surprised.

“Geoff needs time to sober up a little.” Jack feels Michael’s silent concern through the quiet air. “I don’t think this will go down well if he’s drunk for it.”

“Probably not.” Michael agrees with a sardonic snort. He pauses. “It’ll be good to see you again.” He continues, softer now. Jack rumbles a genuine laugh and sits down on the edge of the bed, begins peeling off his socks.

“True. I missed the East coast, the Midwest is shit. Guess I missed you and Narvaez a little too.”

“Fuckin’ teddy bear.” Michael teases. He sounds happy, less tired, and Jack lets himself think for one moment about how much like his old self he sounds.

“Fuck you, Banjo-boy.” Jack replies amiably, standing to shuck off his jeans and leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor. It’s something he had missed, the banter. Hard to do with Geoff passed out every morning and drinking to forget every night.

“You heard about Ray and Ryan.” Michael says. “Gavin told me he talked to you.”

“Yeah, a little. It’s good for them to be talking again.” Jack sits back down, leaning back against the headboard next to Geoff’s snoring head.

“I think they’re doing better than talking, to be honest.” Michael snickers rudely and Jack feels himself blink, suddenly numb with shock. It’s more than he had expected, more than he had honestly hoped for. He has to swallow once before he can make his vocal cords work.

“Really?” he asks softly. “You’re not fucking with me.”

“Deadly fucking serious. It’s gross as hell.” Michael says fondly.

“ _Fuck_.” he says, thumping his head back against the wall. Something inside him, some bit of him that had been twisted up since everything had gone down or maybe even before that, loosened.

“Yeah.” Michael agrees.

+++

Geoff doesn’t like his hangover dreams. They’re too much like fever dreams, his subconscious for once too straightforward and honest. He drinks to forget, not to remember, after all.

He wakes an hour or so after sunrise the next day to Jack running his fingers through his greasy, limp hair.

“’Morning.” Jack says when Geoff nudges his hand away. Geoff doesn’t say anything, though he does spend a moment leaning against Jack’s side before getting up and heading towards the shower.

He only pukes in the stall once. It’s probably a record for him or something.

Jack has their bags packed by the door when he steps out of the bathroom, still damp from the shower and naked as the day he was born. His teeth are brushed and he’s got half a bottle of Advil in him and he feels halfway human for once.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, laying his aching head on Jack’s shoulder for a moment. Jack nudges his bare hip with his knuckles and hands him a pair of jeans.

“Put some goddamn pants on. The last thing we need is to get arrested.” He tells Geoff. Geoff rolls his eyes but obeys, making sure to stick his ass out spitefully in Jack’s direction. When he turns back around Jack isn’t looking but his cheeks are a little pink and Geoff grins triumphantly.

“Like what you see?” he demands obnoxiously, stepping into Jack’s space very deliberately. Jack meets his eyes for a moment before looking away and Geoff reads bewilderment in them and he wonders if it really has been that long.

He thinks back and realizes it really has.

“ _Jack._ ” He demands and waits for Jack to meet his eyes again. He grins when Jack does, as close as he remembers how to do to his old shit-eating grin. “D’you like what you see?”

“I _just_ got you into your pants.” Jack says mournfully but his blush is worse and his eyes can’t stop wandering over Geoff’s tattoos.

“Uh huh?” Geoff prompts helpful, putting a hand on Jack’s chest and pushing him back until his knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Geoff.” Jack says, and then “ _Geoff_.” when Geoff pushes him to sitting down.

“That’s my name.” Geoff agrees and sinks slowly to his knees. He’s still achy and alcohol withdrawal is setting in soon but he’s okay right now, more okay than he’s been in a long time. And Jack was still there, had been there through all of the shit without once wavering or backing down and Geoff is going to give him an appreciation blowjob if it kills him.

“ _Geoff_ ,” Jack repeats insistently and gently tugs Geoff’s chin to look at him. “You’re sober right now, right?”

Geoff blinks for a moment, hears Jack from years and years and years ago saying _you’re drunk right now? won’t remember this tomorrow?_ and smiles.

“Yeah, buddy, I’m sober.”

Jack lets go, falls back on his elbows, and lets Geoff unzip his pants.

+++

“Gavin.”

Michael watches Gavin pause his game without looking at him, setting the controller on the floor and staring down at it with hunched shoulders.

“Right, that’s me.” He replies, all false bravado and he’s still refusing to look at Michael.

Fuck it, Michael thinks.

“Geoff’s coming back here.” He says.

It’s only because he’s still standing by the hallway to the door that he’s able to tackle Gavin back into the room. He had been expecting this, a little, but he had forgotten how fast the little fucker was when he was properly motivated. Gavin was a proper fucking coward and had a history of leaving when shit got rough.

Michael wasn’t letting him leave them this time.

“No, _fuck_ you!” Michael snarls as Gavin writhes under him, trying desperately to get away. He’s squawking loudly, incoherent Gavin noises that are so utterly unique, so sickeningly familiar. “You don’t get out of this, Gavin!”

“Let me _go_!” he screams.

It’s mostly by accident probably but one of his flailing arms reaches around and smacks Michael in the mouth. He tastes pennies and sees red. He’s on his feet in an instant and backing away because he doesn’t actually want to murder Gavin, he’s pretty sure, it’s just hard to remember that sometimes and there’s too many weapons nearby to take the chance.

He takes a second, positioning himself still between Gavin and the door, to calm his panting breathing.

“Why did you come back, Gavin?” Michael demands quietly, angrily. Gavin struggles to his feet and throws his arms out wide, eyes wild and hair a manic halo.

“I don’t know, Michael! I don’t bloody fucking _know_.” he yells and throws himself towards the door again. Michael tackles him once more, sits on his stomach this time, catching Gavin’s skinny wrists in one hand and fisting the other in Gavin’s hair to keep him from biting. Gavin’s knees drum uselessly against his back and he twists desperately, trying still to escape.

It takes a while, a couple of minutes, probably less than five before Gavin stops actively struggling and stills, glaring balefully.

“You left us, Gavin.” Michael says into the silence. He doesn’t know where Ray and Ryan are but probably not in the apartment if they haven’t come investigating yet. He has to tell them too but he anticipates them being less trouble.

“I know.” Gavin mutters.

“You’re allowed to do that. None of us were gonna fuckin’ keep you here if you didn’t want to be.”

“I _know_ that.” Gavin snarls, and bucks up again, managing by sheer dint of surprise to free a hand to paw uselessly at Michael’s face. Michael snarls back and lets go of Gavin’s hair to snag his free hand again, pinning them to the floor this time with one hand.

“Stop it, dumbass.” He grabs Gavin’s hair again and thumps the idiot’s head against the floor once, softly, to make a point. “You get to leave if you want but you can’t come back, you can’t do that shit to us. Especially Geoff. You can’t just come back and leave again without explaining some shit.”

Gavin finally goes limp, stops struggling at all, all the tension and fight draining out of him. He refuses to look Michael in the eye.

“I’m not going to run.” He says after a pause. Michael lets go of his hands and hair experimentally, sitting back on Gavin’s stomach.

Gavin does nothing, just lays there and stares at the ceiling.

Michael gets up slowly and steps away. He watches Gavin get painfully to his feet, shaking his head and patting his clothes down obnoxiously. He’s still refusing to look at Michael but Michael’s mostly okay with that. He feels pretty sick looking at Gavin too.

“If you run this time I’m going to hunt you down.” Michael says into the dull, awkward silence. He turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen. If Gavin replies he doesn’t do it when Michael can hear.

+++

Jack drives because Geoff has the shakes, the alcohol slowly clawing its way out of his system. Geoff sits in the passenger seat most of the time, staring out the window. Sometimes he sleeps in the back, thrashing and feverish dreams that he doesn’t scream himself awake from but that leave him pressing his forehead into Jack’s shoulder for long minutes after he wakes up.

“Nothing real.” Geoff says when Jack asks tentatively what they’re about. He’s not lying, Jack decides, although he may be talking metaphorically. It’s hard for him to tell with Geoff, he’s got the same sleepy-eyed gaze whether he’s telling the truth or lying through his teeth.

Jack adamantly refuses to drive through the night, forcing them to stop in a little shitty roadside motel despite Geoff’s escalating entreaties that he’s fine to keep going. The receptionist doesn’t even bat an eyelid when Jack has to grab Geoff around the waist and pick him up bodily to bring him inside, doesn’t even comment when Jack flatly asks for a queen-sized single bed room. Jack’s grateful.

Geoff quiets down and stops complaining as loudly when they get to the room, laying on the bed and watching the muted television with glazed eyes. He eats the crappy microwaveable burrito Jack goes out and buys from a nearby convenience store with a minimum of bitching. Jack sits on the bed next to him and plays absently with Geoff’s hair.

It’s strange and Jack can’t put his finger on why until he realizes Geoff doesn’t smell like whiskey, isn’t drunk. He smiles like a fool at the television for a few minutes.

When he gets up to change into clothes for bed Geoff watches with narrowed, appreciative eyes but doesn’t make a move. Jack doesn’t make a move either except to pull Geoff closer when he turns the light off for sleep. It’s good though, more than he’s expected for months now.

It’s like the old days but _better_ , easier in some ways and harder in all the right ones.

+++

Ray splits his time now between Ryan and Michael’s rooms at night. Michael’s pretty okay with that, even if he idly wishes his bed were big enough to fit all three of them. He gets a little lonely when neither of them are there but he deals. Ray and Ryan still have shit to work out and he’s not getting involved unless he has to.

It’s only a day since Jack called – since he had told Gavin Geoff was coming – and a day or two until he and Geoff are going to show up that Gavin climbs into his bed.

Michael thinks it’s Ray at first. He’s half-asleep still and it never occurred to him to expect this. He reaches out muzzily and frowns in confusion when his hand finds thin, flyaway hair instead of Ray’s. It takes him a moment to put it together and before he does Gavin is on top of him, one hand on his chest and the other covering his mouth.

“Sorry, Michael.” Gavin says and the way he butchers Michael’s name makes Michael want to punch someone, or vomit. He’s waking up very fast now. “Just, don’t yell please? Ray and Ryan are sleeping.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Michael demands in an undertone as soon as Gavin takes his hand back. Gavin’s not holding a weapon that Michael can see and his tone is all fucked up, a little sad but mostly something else, something Michael doesn’t understand.

Gavin shifts on top of him and Michael is suddenly very, very aware that Gavin is hard in his boxers.

“I missed you, boi.” Gavin admits softly. It feels like he stabbed Michael in the stomach and Michael hadn’t ever cried over Gavin leaving, okay? He never had. But maybe right now he wants to just a little bit.

“Gavin, Gavin, what the fuck, _Gavin_.” Michael swears, bucking up a little bit. He can’t tell if it’s because of the way Gavin moans like it’s been punched out of him or if he wants to escape, to run. Gavin’s face is barely visible in the dark but it’s still familiar like Michael’s childhood home.

“ _Michael._ ” Gavin moans and rolls his hips and even if Michael can’t process what’s going on his dick is suddenly very interested in the proceedings. It twitches in his boxers and he can’t help a huff of surprise.

“Gavin, shit.” He says nonsensically and flips them with a single, rough roll. Gavin’s loud, Michael remembers suddenly, and he puts a hand over his mouth. “Keep it down or I’m gagging you.”

He’s half-hard already when Gavin nods once, convulsively, and tips his head back in a silent moan. Michael plants one elbow on the pillow by Gavin’s head and uses it as leverage, hips rolling up to meet Gavin’s an almost involuntarily action. He has to bury his teeth in Gavin’s shoulder to keep quiet.

It feels so good and it’s been so long since he’s had Gavin, has been years, had been the night before everything went to shit and Gavin left them. The thought makes him bite down harder and Gavin squeaks in his ear, a choked off cry that could have been pain and could have been pleasure.

Gavin moves his hips to meet his thrust for thrust, cock straining the front of his boxers. Michael’s so hard it throbs now, so close way too soon and he hates it. He’s not going to let Gavin win, and so he jerks Gavin’s boxers down roughly with his free hand to free his cock. It’s heavy and hot and hard in Michael’s hand.

Gavin moans low and dirty in his ear when Michael starts jerking him off, hands finding Michael’s back and digging fingernails in. The sting surprises a noise from Michael, a broken little noise that he hates but makes Gavin’s cock twitch in his hand.

“Michael, boi, let me, let me-,” Gavin says, voice breaking and harsh in the panting silence. Michael feels that stab in his gut again and gasps for breath.

“Gav-,” he says and then Gavin’s coming in Michael’s hand, come spilling hot across his palm and wrist.

Michael sits back slowly, ignoring the way his erection throbs with the motion. He wipes his hand absently on the covers. Gavin stares at him, face flushed and hair sticking to his forehead and radiating around his head more wildly even than normal. The only noise in the room is their panting.

“Gavin.” Michael says, not sure what he should do now. Gavin shakes his head once, hard, and lunges forward. Michael process his expression only after Gavin has him pinned back to the bed. It had been fear.

“Let me, Michael, please.” Gavin asks. He doesn’t wait for Michael’s permission, just sinks down between Michael’s legs and frees his cock from the material of his boxers.

Michael isn’t sure if he should stop this. He isn’t sure if he _can_ , if he even wants too. It’s too good, too much like before, too much like forgiving Gavin to have him again.

Gavin leans his head against Michael’s thigh for a moment and examines Michael dick fuzzily.

“I remember-,” he says, and cuts himself off with a lick to the head. Michael swears, louder than he means to, and bucks up before he can think. Gavin makes a noise of surprise and puts a hand on Michael’s hip, holding him in place before he sinks down and takes Michael into his mouth.

It’s a blowjob, just a blowjob, Michael has had them before and Gavin is actually pretty shit at it – too much gag reflex, too much noise, just _too much_ \- but still. It’s _Michael_ and _Gavin_ and the rules had never applied right to them.

Michael grabs Gavin by the hair and pulls him away just as he comes, spurting come over Gavin’s mouth and closed eyelids. It’s enough to drag a moan from him, low and pained, because he missed this. He just hadn’t let himself think about it. 

Michael wipes come from Gavin’s face with a dirty t-shirt he finds groping around on the floor, Gavin watching him silently. He looks scared and uncertain and young. Michael watches him back, his head a buzzing mess of emotions and half-formed thoughts.

“Michael?” Gavin asks quietly when Michael drops the come-stained shirt back on the ground. Michael lays down and tugs the sweaty, smelly covers over them. He sounds even more scared than he looks, about ready to bolt.

“Come here, dumbass.” Michael sighs, and pulls Gavin over to him by the waist. He’s tense until Michael rolls over and tucks Gavin’s head under his chin, and then he exhales something that’s barely not a sob. Michael runs a hand through Gavin’s gross hair. “Team Nice Dynamite, right? Go the fuck to sleep.”

+++

Geoff wakes Jack up by tripping over Jack’s suitcase and accidentally putting a hole in the plaster of the wall.

Jack jerks awake and has his handgun in his hand with the safety off before he even registers what’s going on. Geoff’s laughing when he finally blinks the sleep from his eyes, laughing so hard he has to sit down on a suitcase.

“Geoff?” he asks. Geoff shrugs, still laughing so hard he’s wheezing. The sound makes Jack grin in reply.

“I was, _fuck_ -,” he gasps and wipes at his watering eyes with a hand, “Gonna shower.”

“Good thing I paid in cash.” Jack observes with a huff of pretend annoyance, getting up and examining the hole Geoff had made. It’s fist-sized and exposes how shitty and thin the walls really are. Geoff howls again, head thumping back against the wall and eyes screwed shut. Jack crouches next to him and fondly watches him calm down.

“Get a shower.” He says when Geoff’s laughter has finally died down to the occasional giggle. “I’ll pack us up and we’ll try to get out before they see what you did.”

Geoff snorts again and leans forward unexpectedly, pressing a quick kiss to Jack’s mouth. His breath smells like typical shitty morning breath but when Geoff pulls back Jack can’t keep the stupid, foolish grin off his face. Geoff smiles back and gets up, heading for the bathroom.

Jack starts packing them up.

+++

Ryan traps Gavin in the living room around noon when Michael asks if they want to help him get food. The unspoken rule that Gavin isn’t allowed out of the apartment until Geoff gets there keeps him inside. Ray agrees to go with Michael. Ryan declines to join them.

He sits in the chair next to the couch and watches Gavin quietly. He’s playing Halo with the noise down low, as he seems to do with most of his time. Ryan doesn’t say a word, knows his expressionless stare is unnerving at the best of times.

Considering the circumstances this is hardly the best of times.

Gavin gets twitchy around ten minutes in, losing kills he should have gotten and dying for stupid mistakes. He makes it half an hour before he pauses the game and throws his controller on the ground, whirling to glare at Ryan.

“What do you want?” he demands angrily. His volume is unsteady and wavering and Ryan wonders sadly if Gavin is scared of him. He’s not sure if Gavin has a reason to be. He doesn’t like to think so.

“You shouldn’t do that with Michael’s nice things.” He says instead of answering, jabbing a thumb at the controller on the ground. Gavin gives an ugly snort.

“Michael can fuck himself.” He says nastily. Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“Mmm.” he agrees noncommittally. Gavin watches him for several long seconds, and yeah, maybe Gavin is a little scared of him.

“What do you want?” he asks again, in a more modulated volume this time. Ryan pulls a half-smile and Gavin flinches and Ryan aches a little inside.

“You did a hell of a lot of damage when you left, you know. Not to say I didn’t fuck up either, I’m well aware of that. I suppose…” he trails off and examines the far wall for a moment. “I suppose I’d like to know why.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Gavin says unsteadily. He’s going pale, bloodlessly, and Ryan can’t stop himself from remembering the nightmares of his lovers dying, of the blood on his hands. It’s an unpleasant memory.

He still dreams sometimes of Gavin dead, even with two years gone.

“You don’t.” Ryan acknowledges with a shrug. He doesn’t move his stare from Gavin’s face.

Gavin breaks with a violent shrug, turning around on the couch cushions to face Ryan. He’s pressed up against the arm of the couch, as far from him as he can get, his knees up between them in a subconscious shield.

Ryan wants to reach out, wants to cradle Gavin close and tell him he didn’t have to say anything at all.

He gets up and Gavin flinches, looks down at his knees when Ryan settles onto the other side of the couch.

“You don’t have to be scared of me.” He says softly. Gavin glances up angrily.

“I’m not _scared_.” he says scathingly. Ryan raises an eyebrow again and Gain looks away. “I’m not.” he insists quietly.

“I hope not.” Ryan says quietly and picks up the controller off the floor. There’s another one on the table by the couch and he puts that one on the couch cushion between them, turning the game back on. Michael’s stats have improved since the last time Ryan was over and played.

Gavin’s hand sneaks out between them and snags the controller. Ryan barely stops himself from smiling.

“Turn on multiplayer.” Gavin mutters when Ryan spends a moment hovering over the menu. Ryan nods and obeys, starting a new game.

They play for a few minutes, and it’s just like old times – they were always really good together, the two of them, and they could have been even better if they stopped goofing off for a single goddamn second – except it’s too quiet. Gavin likes to talk shit when he plays, or he used to and Ryan can’t imagine him changing, but he doesn’t say a word. Ryan takes his cue from that.

He’s not really trying to do anything, really. Maybe stop Gavin from being so scared because Ryan isn’t actually going to hurt him. Nothing else really matters that much to Ryan.

It’s a total surprise to him when, half an hour into the game, Gavin starts talking. He doesn’t stop playing, doesn’t preface it with any introduction. He doesn’t even look away from the screen, Ryan sees when he glances at him.

“I left ‘cuz I got scared, Rye.” He says. Onscreen his character kills an Elite. Ryan doesn’t say anything, glances at him again. He’s pale but his hands are steady around the controller.

Gavin doesn’t say anything again for a while, watching silently through a cutscene he has to have seen a million times before.

“We heard you three, you know. Over the radios.” He says when the gameplay starts back up. Ryan swallows and closes his eyes, hand convulsing on the controller.

Gavin’s hand touches his for a moment, just a quick brush of fingertips across the back of his hand, and Ryan opens his eyes with a jolt. Gavin is back on the far end of the couch, controller clutched with a white-knuckled grip. He had paused the game but still won’t look away from the screen, cheeks reddening under Ryan’s scrutiny.

Ryan looks away, back to the screen himself. Gavin unpauses and keeps playing.

“I don’t think Jack or Geoff were listening very closely. Something about all the bloody cops, I imagine. But I heard.” Gavin continues.

Ryan has to wait a moment to speak, his thoughts a spinning mess of emotions and the sudden need to see Ray. To check on him. To have him smile at Ryan, not the old carefree smile but not the newer, empty smile Ryan had gotten used to since then either.

“Yeah.” He says uselessly. His voice is cracking and hoarse.

He sees Gavin look at him out of the corner of his eye. This time he’s the one not acknowledging it, staring at the screen until it makes his eyes burn.

“I’m glad you and Ray are okay again.” Gavin says. He still hasn’t looked away from Ryan. Ryan still refuses to look back.

“Me too.” He says hoarsely instead. Gavin turns back to the screen and resumes playing.

“When we got away from the cops Geoff told me he loved me.” He says a beat later.

Ryan pauses the game and sets his controller down.

“He did that.” He says. He has to fight his tone to control it, no longer hoarse but now shaking with rage. Ryan can barely see straight, he’s too _angry_. His hands are shaking all of a sudden and he hopes desperately that he isn't right. “And that’s why you left.”

There’s a beat where Gavin stares at Ryan, the fear back and worse now. Ryan suddenly doesn’t care, thinks that maybe the fear is even warranted.

“Yes?” Gavin says uncertainly.

Ryan starts laughing.

It feels awful, harsh and jagged in his chest, ugly when it spills past his lips. Gavin flinches at the first noise and barely even blinks the whole time.

Eventually Ryan has to stop to breathe. The awful mirth still vibrates in his chest, catching at his breathing in nasty little chuckles. There’s something in his chest, something sharp and aching and painful and Ryan just. Ryan can’t handle it.

He didn’t know what he was expecting. But it hadn’t been that.

He gets to his feet without looking at Gavin and walks towards the door to his room.

“I was _scared_ , Ryan!” Gavin calls after him.

Ryan’s fist slams into the wall loudly and Gavin falls backwards with a choked yell of fear. Ryan focuses on the throb of pain in his knuckles because it’s simpler, and better than anything he actually wants to do or say to Gavin now.

“I loved you. We all loved you.” Ryan says into the deadly quiet. He doesn’t turn around, stares at the dent he made in the wall instead. “We _adored_ you, you stupid shithead.”

The noise Gavin makes in response is wounded and animal.

“I don’t have anything else to say to you.” Ryan says numbly, which is a lie. There are plenty of words, backed up over his tongue, but none of them that will do any good and most of them he would regret. Gavin doesn’t respond anyway, aside from his labored, panicked breathing.

Ryan shuts the door to his room behind him and breaks down.

+++

“What the _fuck_ did you say to Ryan.”

Gavin looks up from his phone with a confused frown and it takes everything Ray has to not punch him in the face.

“What?” Gavin asks in his stupid, stupid British accent and Ray loses the battle with himself.

Gavin is really very lucky that Ray doesn’t have any formal combat training, at least in hand-to-hand. The punch Ray delivers is uncoordinated and glancing and comparatively weak. If Jack or Michael had done the punching Gavin would have been laid out for hours.

As it is Gavin squawks and falls back, scrambling away. Ray follows him, his self-control recovering enough to not punch him again but not enough to make him lower his volume from a venomous shout.

“He’s locked himself in his room. He won’t talk to Michael and he’ll barely talk to me. You’re the only one that could do this, so _what did you say_?”

Gavin backs up until his ass hits the arm of the couch and Ray is towering over him. His face is an odd mix of fear and sadness and obstinacy.

“I didn’t do anything!” he insists.

Ray hisses his disbelief and slams his fist against the top of the couch instead of breaking Gavin’s nose like he wants to.

“He didn’t.”

Ryan’s voice is so unexpected that Ray falls back on his heels, staring over the back of the couch at Ryan standing in the doorway to his room. His posture is defeated and weary and he refuses to look at Gavin, keeping his eyes on Ray instead. They’re empty, not empty like the ice he grows when he has to be violent but empty with tiredness. It makes Ray ache with sympathy and he almost stands to go over to him.

“Ryan.” Gavin says, a world of conflict and longing in his voice. Ryan’s gaze doesn’t so much as flicker his way.

“I asked some questions.” He continues evenly, blinking slowly. “Gavin answered honestly. It’s not his fault I didn’t like what he had to say.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Ray says unthinkingly, tone rebellious. Ryan quirks a smile at that, a genuine and fond one.

“As you wish.” He says with a shrug and turns to head back into his room. “I’ll be in here if you want me,” he throws towards Ray over his shoulder and then closes the door.

Gavin is silent when Ray turns back to stare at him. His face is blank and he’s not crying but Ray thinks if it were anyone but Gavin he would be.

“He asked me why I left.” Gavin says when it becomes obvious Ray is just going to stand there silently in his space until he talks. “I told him the truth. He um. He said some other stuff.”

It takes Ray a moment, wondering if he wants to know what Gavin said. The _real_ reason it took two years to get the six of them in one room again.

They used to be so close, inseparable, a gang against the world with the odds in their favor.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t. He knows it’ll all come out soon, tomorrow if Jack and Geoff rush or the day after if they don’t, and he’s more worried about what Ryan could have said. What had fucked him up so much to say, what had fucked Gavin up so badly to hear.

“What did he say, Gavin.” He asks steadily. Gavin looks down in at his hands, his cheeks turning red. His expression is still obstinate.

“Stuff.” He mutters.

Ray punches him again, not as hard but more directly. He doesn’t break Gavin’s nose either. He’s very proud of himself.

“What the bloody _fuck_ , Ray!” Gavin demands loudly, clutching at the cheek Ray hit. It probably won’t even bruise but Gavin had always been a bit of a baby about pain.

“What did Ryan say.” Ray asks flatly instead of answering. Gavin blinks up at him for a moment.

“You never punched me before.” he says, voice full of childish wonder.

Ray closes his eyes, against the memories of before, against his exhaustion and frustration, against the image of Gavin curled up around where Ray had hurt him. He tries to summon his anger again. It takes remembering Geoff in the days right after Gavin had left, Ryan’s tired, defeated face, Michael and Jack growing older by the day taking care of the remains of their fucked up little family.

“Just tell me, Gavin.” He mutters.

“He said you.” Gavin pauses to cough, his cheeks red and his expression deeply unhappy. His gaze avoids Ray’s. “He said you all loved me.”

Ray sits back and stares into space for a long few moments. Gavin watches him despairingly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know.” Ray says at last.

“It scares me.” Gavin whispers. When Ray looks at him he finally, for the first time Ray can actually remember, looks like he’s about to cry.

“Love is scary.” Ray says shortly and gets up, walking to Ryan’s door and opening it with Gavin’s stare burning between his shoulder blades. He doesn’t look back.

+++

Geoff makes them leave their latest shitty little motel in Cleveland early, antsier and antsier the closer he gets to New York. It’s a little infectious and Jack has the jitters as he pulls onto the freeway out of Cleveland.

Geoff won’t stop flicking through the radio stations on their little radio, listening to half a song at a time before snorting and reaching for the dial again. Jack lets it go. He’s got things to focus on, like early morning traffic and balancing his cup of shitty motel coffee and what he’s going to do when he sees Gavin again.

He’s ruled out murdering him. That’s about as far as he’s gotten.

Geoff finally gives up on the radio and turns it off. They drive in silence for a while. Jack does some calculations in his head and decides they’ll be in New York just after it gets dark. He considers trying to make Geoff sleep before going to Michael’s but laughs internally and discards the thought. It’s been a fight every night just to get Geoff to let them stop at a motel.

Geoff picks at the rubber seal of the window and fidgets with the pieces.

“Do you think he missed me?” he asks an hour into their drive. His voice is hopeful and cracks on the second-to-last word. It’s the first thing he’s said all day and Jack’s heart breaks for him.

“I know he did.” Jack replies quietly. Geoff nods once, hard, chin hitting his sternum.

“Do you think he’ll be happy to see me?” he asks a few minutes later. Jack pauses for a moment and thinks.

“I don’t know.” He decides honestly. Geoff nods again and looks away, out the window.

It’s quiet until they hit the New York City limits.

+++

Michael watches Gavin get progressively paler all day and wonders if he’s about to watch Gavin tear them apart all over again.

He doesn’t run, at least, and Michael’s grateful for that. He hadn’t been kidding about hunting Gavin down. He’s not sure what he would do when he found him but Michael’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be pleasant. He’s pretty sure he’d regret it. 

Michael steps between Gavin and the television when it finally starts getting dark and pulls the controller out of his hand, ending his game. Gavin stares up at him with uncertain eyes. 

“If you have to leave again, no one’s going to stop you.” Michael says when he’s sure he has Gavin’s full attention. Gavin swallows jerkily and opens his mouth but Michael cuts him off to continue. “But it’s going to kill Geoff again. And you have to explain it to him. You can’t just disappear without a word.”

“Okay.” Gavin says. His voice is croaky. 

Michael holds his gaze for a moment longer and then ruffles his hair in as much reassurance as he thinks he should give. He feels Gavin watching him when he walks away, knocking on Ryan’s door and asking the occupants quietly if they want any food. 

Gavin doesn’t move from the couch, doesn’t turn the television back on, stares at his hands and fiddles with his phone. 

By the time the knock on the door comes an hour later he still hasn’t moved.

+++

Geoff plants his feet and flatly refuses to get a hotel in the city for the night when Jack suggests it. Jack knew he would, doesn’t fight him on it. It’s taking all his concentration to find his way to Michael’s apartment anyway.

It’s been about half a year since he’d last been here, he realizes when he thinks back. A long time. A few of the buildings have changed since then, not that he kept careful track to begin with. There’s a Starbucks where a McDonalds used to be. The independent coffee shop he used to go to the mornings after he stayed the night is gone.

Jack is aware he may be trying to distract himself. It’s working, even, up to a point.

Whatever Geoff is doing to distract himself – if he is – isn’t working out as well. He keeps tapping out a beat on his knees and then losing the rhythm, holding his hands in the air to see them shake. He finds a napkin in the dashboard and tears it into strips and braids it together and then tears it into confetti. 

Jack is almost thankful when he pulls to a stop in the garage servicing Michael’s building. Geoff is driving him crazy.

Geoff is out of the car and heading for the doors to the elevator before Jack can even unbuckle. He has to jog to catch up and when he does he keeps pace silently. The elevator ride is silent too, Jack watching Geoff watch his shuffling feet.

He’s not sure if there’s anything he could say.

Geoff stops for the first time in days at the end of Michael’s hallway, meeting Jack’s eyes shiftily. They’re wide and panicky and Jack wonders for the first time if maybe _Geoff_ will be the one to run.

“What if…” Geoff says into the quiet and then shakes his head and keeps walking.

Jack’s right behind Geoff when he knocks on the door and so he sees Gavin when he opens the door, at the same time Geoff does. There’s a moment where Gavin watches Geoff and Geoff watches Gavin and then Geoff makes a tearing noise and bolts for the stairs.

“Geoff!” Gavin screams after him and Jack barely misses being knocked into the wall as he takes off after him.

He stares after them until the door to the stairway slams shut behind them and then looks back into the apartment, at Ryan and Ray and Michael all crowded around the door.

“Should we go after them?” Ray asks. Michael shrugs. Ryan doesn’t say anything. Jack sighs.

“Maybe. Probably. I don’t know.” He says, gestures towards the door. “Can I come in?”

+++

Gavin chases Geoff down the stairs at a pace that means if he trips he’s probably going to break bones. He doesn’t care, just needs to catch Geoff and see him again. He needs to talk to him. Needs… God, he just _needs_ Geoff and he had forgotten somehow in the past two years.

Geoff is fast but Gavin is faster.

Gavin tackles him in the parking garage, gets kicked off and tackles him again in the alley beside Michael’s apartment building. This time he sits on Geoff’s stomach and uses what Michael had used on him to keep Geoff from escaping, grabbing a wrist in each hand and keeping his face out of head-butting range.

They stare at each other for a few minutes of frantic breathing. Geoff looks as terrified as Gavin feels and Gavin can’t stop running his eyes over him.

He’s thinner, unhealthily so, and the bags under his eyes are dark. His beard is a scruffy mess. Gavin wonders abstractly if he ever went through with his plan to grow a luxurious mustache and if so why he got rid of it. There are fading bruises on his knuckles and Gavin wonders who had provoked the punch. He has more tattoos too, on his arms and some he can see peeking out from under his shirt and Gavin wonders what they mean, why Geoff got them.

It burns that he doesn’t know and he regrets leaving more fiercely than he has in the whole of the last two years put together.

“Geoff.” He says, and Geoff flinches violently under him. It almost dislodges Gavin’s grip.

“Gavin.” Geoff replies after a moment, head thumping back against the ground. He looks up at the smoggy sky instead of at Gavin and that hurts. “Should have let me go.” 

Gavin laughs despairingly.

“We can’t _both_ run away, Geoffrey.” He says, uses his old mocking tone because he can’t let himself fall apart right now. Everything is riding on this.

“Why _not_?” Geoff demands viciously, twisting suddenly and managing to yank his hands out of Gavin’s grasp. He can’t dislodge Gavin entirely, ends up with Gavin hunched over his chest, hands planted on his shoulders to keep him there. It takes all of Gavin’s strength and it isn’t going to work long, he knows.

“Because I came back!” he snaps in reply, voice tense and high.

Geoff falls back. Stops fighting. He stares up at Gavin like he doesn’t recognize him, confusion and incomprehension and disbelief a complicated muddle on his face.

“You did.” He agrees. “Took you two goddamn years, kid.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Gavin whispers.

“Why?” Geoff asks simply. His eyes are vulnerable and sad and Gavin would think it would be hard to meet them but it’s harder to find the right answer.

“Ryan told me something the other day, something I didn’t know.” Gavin says slowly, picking his words carefully. Geoff’s expression shifts into a frown but he waits. Gavin’s grateful for that. “I realized a lot of stuff.”

“Gavin.” Geoff says in warning and bucks a little under Gavin’s hands to remind him that Gavin is on time that’s borrowed at best.

“I didn’t know that you all loved me.” He says in a rush, closing his eyes. “I got scared.”

Gavin expects Geoff to throw him off and start running again, to at least leave him, to at least _say_ something. The long silence is unexpected.

“ _Gavin_.” Geoff says in a tone that Gavin actually recognizes. It’s from before, from when he did something stupid and fucked up and came to Geoff for help because Geoff _always_ knew what to do, _always_ helped him. It hurts to hear because Gavin sort of thought he had forfeited his rights to it.

“I thought it was just for fun, before.” He says in a rush, opening his eyes. It’s as much to stop Geoff from saying any more as a desire to say the words coming out of his mouth. “Just, just passing time.”

Geoff looks at him with something like pity. 

“Did you honestly think that?” Geoff asks in the same soft tone. He reaches up and runs a careful hand through Gavin’s hair and Gavin has to shut his eyes again against it.

“No.” he says. “Maybe. I got scared.” 

“Are you scared now?” Geoff asks. He still sounds gentle, like before, and Gavin wishes he’d stop because he’s having enough trouble thinking as it is. 

He makes a split-second decision and hopes it’s the right one. 

“Yeah.” He laughs jaggedly. “But, I’m going to stay. If I can. If you’ll all have me back.” 

The words feel right coming out and the noise Geoff makes in response – quick and sharp like he’s been stabbed – means he did the right thing. Geoff’s fingers threading tighter in his hair and yanking him down to kiss him desperately means the same thing.

They kiss for a long time, hot and wet and teeth clicking together. They’re out of practice with each other but it’s familiar and they're perfectly happy to relearn what they forgot.

“I love you.” Geoff murmurs to him every time he pulls back for air and it’s still terrifying to Gavin, still scares him shitless, but he doesn’t want to run. Maybe even wants to hear it some more.

“I’m gonna stay.” Gavin says when they finally pull away for real, Geoff lying back and panting and watching him like he hung the moon. “Not running this time.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hold On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053854) by [f1py](https://archiveofourown.org/users/f1py/pseuds/f1py)




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